The Duty of Halflings
by AilciA
Summary: When King Aragorn is injured and forced to stay in bed for a time, two halflings take it upon themselves to entertain him... even if it means a song and a fight with a certain elf, and the following revenge. With Legolas, Arwen & Faramir. not slash. FINIS
1. The Duty Of Halflings

A/N: This story just came to me the other day, and it's for all my readers who have been persistently asking for more light-hearted or fellowship stuff... I think this has been done already, but I thought I'd give this idea a bash, and thought it an opportunity to unleash some delightfully friendship-based antics upon you all! And I thoroughly enjoyed a certain part of Return Of The King (which I went to see the other day) near to the end, and thought it so lovely and heart melting that I'd do something along the same lines.  
  
Hope you like, I loved writing it!  
  
  
  
Aragorn, the King of Gondor, couldn't quite believe had actually been forbidden to move one inch from his bed.  
  
Not one to send his soldiers into battles whilst he himself stayed holed up in his comfortable palace with his family and friends, Aragorn had briefly joined some of his fighters further to the east of his lands who had been having a recurring problem with gangs of wandering orcs. The men were obviously capable and skilled in the art of fighting, yet the swiftness between the orc attacks upon their one, small settlement set in the rolling plains of the east had surprised them, and they had been unable to defend themselves properly with each bout. So Aragorn, along with some soldiers he had ordered to be transferred from the defence of the palace, had ridden out to lend their aid. The fighting had been short but fierce, and though the Gondorimm had finally won, there had been many injuries and Aragorn himself had sustained a fairly deep gash to his left thigh in the process. He insisted that he was fine, but his wife and queen, the beautiful Arwen, was having none of that and refused to allow him to walk about - and after more than one occasion of her coming into their chamber to find him in the midst of some sort of activity, he had been confined to his bed where he was to stay until she saw fit.  
  
As a consequence of her *most* touching concern, Aragorn thought he might possibly be going mad with boredom. Yet there was absolutely nothing he could do about such a thing: the Evenstar was more than a little intimidating when she wanted to be, and though Aragorn would never admit to being frightened of his own wife, he didn't see the point in doing anything out of his way to... upset her, either.  
  
He was stuck, as well, because the book which had previously held his attention was now lying, spine-up, across the other side of the chamber. A flash of uncharacteristic frustration had over-taken the King suddenly and, seeing as he was unable to reach any other object to vent his anger upon, the novel had been the victim and had been flung at the wall with a fair bit of force. Aragorn was not about to tell anyone that it hadn't even hit the wall: at the height of his tantrum it had fallen short by a mere hobbit's-breadth. And he was not about to risk getting out of bed to fetch the said book in case his wife should somehow appear, so now he sat sulking, surrounded by twisted sheets and piled blankets, unable to move.  
  
There was a small but sharp rap at his door, and he sat up slightly. Aragorn did not know who it could be, as the queen had forbid guards to come near him in case he tried to bribe them to let him out of bed or something, and his children and Arwen did not knock. It was a pleasant surprise to him, then, when two well-known heads, topped with mops of auburn and chestnut-brown curls, peaked around the door. "Excuse me?" came a teasing, familiarly high voice. "But we were told someone was throwing a tantrum?"  
  
"Pippin! Meriadoc! Whatever are you doing here?!" Aragorn was delighted, of course, to see his good friends: he was not able to get away to see them as often as he wished to, and missed them terribly. Nevertheless, he was very surprised to see the two hobbits as he had not heard they were in his lands.  
  
The pair of halflings stepped out from behind the door, into the room, both wearing happy grins. They had barely changed at all since they had been members of the fellowship, more than a few years ago now - except, perhaps, they might just have had a few more laughter-lines, and the light that constantly shone from their bright eyes was less unruly and more experienced.  
  
Merry thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he said, "Well, you know, Strider... we were in Rohan, and Lady Arwen sent word to Eomer that you had been injured, and we were ordered - ordered I tell you! - by the King of the Horse-lords to come and see what we could do." He looked about the room, expectantly, and his face fell slightly, "Seems no one else has bothered... see what good friends *we* are!"  
  
Aragorn chuckled, heart gladdened immediately by the mere presence of the hobbits: he loved them dearly, and always found their hilarious souls and unquenchable spirits truly awe-inspiring and very amusing. "Aye," he said, grinning at the pair, "It appears I am a bit of a Billy-no-mates..."  
  
"Hey, come on," countered Peregrin, raising a finger and seeming serious all of a sudden. "I have a good friend called Bill, let's not go bad mouthing him and say he's got no chums, now... it's not his fault..." he grinned widely, then changed subject in a flash of a fryingpan, as he always did - it was one of the many phenomenas concerning the mind of this certain Took, that his brain was always ahead of him and seemed to have many tracks, and so Pip was forever changing subjects unconsciously in the middle of a conversation. "Hey, Strider... which side is your injured one?"  
  
The King, not catching the fake-earnestness of the young hobbit, nor the wicked glance that flashed between the pair, indicated the left side of him, the furthest from them. "This one - stupid thigh.... *Oooofff*!" He exhaled sharply as the two halflings jumped readily onto his stomach, seeming to mistake it for the bed's mattress. "What did I do to deserve this?" he wondered aloud with mock-desperation, grinning as he moved the fidgeting beings from off his abdomen and to a more comfortable position.  
  
"You got yourself injured, that's what, my lord," Merry came back at him, using the same, typically-concerned tone of voice he had used when he had continuously asked Frodo of his well-being during their travels in the fellowship; or when Pippin had hurt himself falling down or doing something or other; or the time when Legolas had returned to Mirkwood after the war for the first time and had been found by the halfling, recovering after a fierce argument with his father... it was a chiding and half-angry, but well-meant way of speaking which Aragorn found eternally-endearing and very admirable. Merry's chestnut-brown eyes flashed with exaggerated vexation as he said this, seemingly annoyed at his friend for injuring himself in the first place.  
  
"Yeah," added Peregrin at length, poking the King in the ribs as he nodded his auburn head with vehemence. "Why in all the Shire did you think you were tough enough to take on that amount of orcs, ay? You should have learnt by now..."  
  
"Well, maybe..." Aragorn trailed off, as if thinking deeply. "Well *maybe* it was not the first - nor dare I say, even the umpteenth -time I've been threatened with odds against me? I trust Legolas has told of the time in a Mirkwood winter with those Wargs... or that one when the land shifted in Rivendell and we were caught out, or the time when we were captured by men of the woods and- "  
  
"All right, all right!" cried Pip, holding his hands up to stem the tide of stories he knew would flood from Aragorn. He loved hearing the many tales of all the trouble Aragorn and Legolas got themselves into during the early years of their friendship (and quite a few when they really should have known better!), of course, even though some stories obviously held dark memories for them both - but Peregrin thought himself a hobbit who had done great things. He had, of course, without a doubt - but he himself thought his great claims of courageousness paled into insignificance beside those of great warriors such as the ex-ranger and the elven prince, who saw danger and strife as part of everyday life and seemed to thrive on it, dealing with it in their stride, it seemed. He didn't like to be reminded that though his deeds were near-unbelievable in the sheltered world of The Shire, when compared with the world of Men and Elves, he had really done very little.  
  
He really, in all honesty, had no idea that both Aragorn and Legolas held him the highest esteem, and thought so with very good reason. "There's no need to show off!" he carried on, lowering his hands and glowering at his long-time friend good-naturedly.  
  
Aragorn merely chuckled, and shifted his right leg so that it would not go numb under the weight of his two dear companions. "You started it," he grumbled.  
  
"Oh, and that's mature," retorted Pip sarcastically, green eyes sparkling with amusement before he looked away to study the mural on the wall opposite the bed.  
  
The King looked at the two small beings in utter wonder, starry grey eyes open wide with near-disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, but found himself uncharacteristically speechless, and so quickly shut it again. A quiet moment passed in comfortable silence, with the hobbits looking every which way, their attentions constantly grabbed by something or other, though they had seen the room before in the past, and Aragorn merely watched them with calm amusement. Then, Merry suddenly remembered something: "Oh, Pip! We have not yet done the song!"  
  
"The song?" asked the King.  
  
"Yes, the song... oh, wait - you do not yet know of it do you?" Merry had begun the sentence as though it was obvious and his friend should know immediately exactly what he was speaking of - and he ended it rather sheepishly, realising that Aragorn could not even have the slightest clue about what he meant. He began to explain, "It's just a nonsense a song that me and Pippin made up one night, near the beginning of the quest to try and capture the moment... when we hadn't known what we'd gotten ourselves into, and we reckoned it was our first great adventure."  
  
"How innocent we were then," side Peregrin, with mock-earnestness and a hand upon his heart.  
  
Aragorn snorted, rather un-Royally, and then quickly apologised when he saw the dagger-looks his friends both shot his way. He held up his hands as if in defence, knowing that hobbits were capable of tickling rather viscously, and usually played dirty when they fought. "All right! I am sorry, dear friends! I know not what came over me... please forgive me!"  
  
"Well... I suppose we can... ay, Merry?" Pippin said appraisingly, giving Aragorn the once over, seemingly deciding whether the King of Gondor was worthy of their forgiving natures.  
  
The elder hobbit nodded and Aragorn grinned, "As a punishm- " At the sharp warning looks the halflings gave him, their large eyes flashing dangerously, he switched tact in the middle of his sentence, " -To show my appreciation for your forgiveness, I humbly ask you to now perform this wonderful song you speak of." He yielded the stone floor of his chamber to his friends, waving an arm in the direction of the centre of the room.  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Strider," Meriadoc recited the well-known line from their long days in the fellowship, travelling together, where this chiding comment was eventually heard from all of the nine companions at once point or another, having originally been Merry and Frodo's warning to their younger cousin Pippin, back from when he was a mere hobbit-lad. "But we shall sing you our song, nonetheless."  
  
Aragorn chuckled, and settled back into his pillows to enjoy the show, not really knowing what to expect - he knew both hobbits had sweet voices, but was unsure to their song-writing abilities... Frodo had always been the one to sing songs he made up, just like Bilbo before him. He watched as Merry tapped his large foot, slapping it rhythmically against the stone, and began humming a background tune. After a moment, Pippin began to sing, in a delightfully soft way - he managed to convey the joy one felt on a summer's day, and his tone was full of excitement, anticipation and happiness. And Merry joined in periodically at the end of each line, and sometimes backed Pippin's song up with a wonderfully beautiful chorus. The song sounded like this:  
  
'Step back from the world around you. Look onto your pastures new - you will grow. Live through all your empty moments... Keep hope that the ones you love, love you.  
  
'I'm going down and you'll follow me - if you want to. Going down for good...  
  
'If you go down winding roads, only winding roads will follow you...  
  
'Hold onto your thoughts, the thoughts that matter. Think back and remember more - they are yours. Time stops when you're always moving... Stand still and you'll never leave that spot.  
  
'I'm going down and you'll follow me - if you want to. Going down for good...  
  
'If you go down winding roads, only winding roads will follow you... Honeysuckle grows and flows: if you stay it will grow over you...  
  
'Scrape me from the cities' pavements - throw me out into the sea... like a stone. Set sail on the windy ocean: swim free, it's your only chance to be alone.  
  
'I'm going down and you'll follow me - if you want to. Going down winding roads for good...  
  
'I cover everything you do. Everytime you're on the floor - I'll help you up.  
  
'I'm going down winding roads, following you because I want to. Going down winding roads for good... with you.'  
  
And so the song was finished, and Aragorn was left dumbstruck. Not all the words had been relevant, but they had captured beautifully what the hobbits had been trying to say. For a moment, the King of Gondor had been back, at the beginning of their quest when, although it was cold, the sun had shone brightly; Frodo and Sam were inseparable as always; Boromir was still in the midst of figuring everyone out, and reluctantly finding that he could not avoid some friendships; Gimli and Legolas prowled about one another like dangerous Wargs, circling ever closer until, when one of them got too close, the other lashed out and they went back to keeping their distance. Aragorn could almost see the memories he was thinking of: the song made him remember the feelings in the air, the way they tasted, the wonderful smells of the ever-changing countrysides they found themselves travelling through... and the eventual, unbelievably-secure feeling of camaraderie they had all felt, looking out for the person at their side, knowing that that person would do the same for them. Very fond memories were connected to the fellowship.  
  
"That was... by the Valar- " Aragorn breathed, then chuckled at his lack of eloquence.  
  
"Good, hey?" asked Pip, a wide, smug smile adorning his cheeky, freckled features.  
  
"Astounding," was all the ex-ranger could say. They sat in silence for a moment or two, beaming at one another but without any words to say. Just sitting and basking in the warmth of their friendship. Merry grinned daftly at his best friend, who in turn smirked at Aragorn, who was having a hard time trying to stop chuckling. Just as it seemed that one of them would be able to bring up something to say, the door to the chamber swung open.  
  
"Excuse me, but I was wondering if this belonged to anybody- ?" The heavy door had opened smoothly to reveal a tall elven prince, grinning and struggling to hold on to the squirming bundle of a human child he had flung casually over his shoulder. Eldarion was screaming with laughter and waving his arms and kicking his legs as Legolas bumped him up and down regularly, making his dark curls fly. The elf carried on, as if he did not know Aragorn, Merry and Pippin were watching the whole show with vast grins on their faces. His voice was loud and theatrical, tone going up at the end of words in a very stylised manner, put on purely for his godson's benefit, of course: "My, my. wherever can they be?" He whirled to the left, dipping his left leg and straightening his right comically, a hand to his brow as if trying to see past a large distance, "They're not over there!" He did the same to the right, and the volume of Eldarion's laughter doubled as he was swung. "And they're not over there! Whatever can we do???"  
  
"Foolish elf," called out Aragorn, a merry grin plastered across his stubbled features at the mighty prince humouring a mere lad of eight, "Please. just watch my eldest child's head on the door frames." He wasn't really all that anxious - though his best friend could act ridiculously some times, who would never put anyone in danger. Aragorn was merely saying it to annoy the elf.  
  
It worked. The Mirkwood archer immediately snapped out of his actorial role, to send a withering green glare at the King, sparking with vexed silver lightening. Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he said, "You would do well to hold your tongue, dearest Estel: obviously I was about to go and clobber the closest thing I have to a son repeatedly over a hard inanimate object, but now you have chided me in such a passionate way, I have rethought the direction of my whole life and will now." Here, he swung the child - in an unnatural but extremely graceful way - the wrong way over his shoulder, so that Eldarion ended facing upwards and balanced upon the prince's lean hip, still chuckling ecstatically. "Change my original course of actions."  
  
Merry applauded heartily as Legolas dropped the lad down onto his own two feet once more, grinning widely at the boy. "That was a brilliant trick, Legolas! I see King Eomer got to you, too!" At Aragorn's surprised look, Merry swiftly became all innocent and widened his large chestnut eyes even further, "What? Did we not say.?"  
  
"NO you did not say," Aragorn answered - he had had no idea Legolas had been charged to come and entertain him. It seemed his good friend Eomer was doing his best to cheer Aragorn up, and the King of Gondor appreciated that greatly. and he could have asked for no better beings to answer the call of duty.  
  
"Adar!" cried Eldarion, running and taking a flying leap, just as the hobbits had, onto his father's stomach, managing to deftly avoid Aragorn's injured side. Once there and after hugging the King's neck, he immediately turned and set about playing with Pippin, who he loved dearly, and proceeded to ignore his father from then on.  
  
"I see the little one's attention is as extensive as ever," grinned Legolas, strolling into the room with his hands behind his back and a superior air about him.  
  
Aragorn held up a hand, and narrowed his grey eyes threateningly, "Hey. you had better not be insulting my son, princeling, or. or." he trailed off, unable at that time to think of a threat great enough to deter his bull- headed best friend. Instead he just pointed all the more viscously, hoping that would be enough.  
  
Obviously, it wasn't.  
  
The prince staggered back theatrically, clutching a hand to his chest as though shocked,. then he straightened gracefully, raising a mocking golden brow. "Or what?" It was a dare - one of many that punctuated the life of the two friends - they both knew the terms.  
  
The King's eyes darkened dramatically, and a wicked grin grabbed his face: "I'll set the hobbit's on you."  
  
Pippin and Merry both looked up from Eldarion, identical surprised looks gracing their small faces. They saw for the first time the mock stand-off, looked at each other, grinned, and got up off the bed to form a small sort of wall between their King and their prince. It was clear which side they were on.  
  
Legolas' fair expression quickly changed to one of minor betrayal and hurt as his silver-green gaze latched onto his former hobbit friends. "You wouldn't," he said - not in the daring tone he adopted for use when trying to bait Aragorn, but in a more uncertain, evaluating voice.  
  
Merry sighed, as though he regretted what he ands his cousin had to do, and looked up at Legolas mournfully. "It is no choice of ours: King Eomer sent us to make Aragorn feel better. to amuse him."  
  
"Yes," Aragorn called out triumphantly from his bed, smugness radiating from him. "And what would amuse me greatly right now is if they fought for mine and my son's honour to be returned."  
  
"It's our duty as halflings," added Pippin, nodding his auburn head but still looking at Legolas as though asking his forgiveness. Then he grinned.  
  
Legolas understood. but that didn't mean he liked it. He glared over the hobbits at Aragorn once more, and his green eyes narrowed. "Not Balrogs nor Arwen will be able to save you from me once you have recovered, human..." he hissed, voice uncharacteristically frightening - the effect was somewhat ruined, however, by Eldarion, seated in Aragorn's strong arms and thinking his godfather was merely playing again, giggled wildly, pointing at the golden-haired elf and laughing. Legolas did not have the heart to glare at him, and so instead deflated somewhat.  
  
Aragorn laughed heartily, "You insult me and my son. and now my beloved? Now the halflings will have to fight for my family's honour."  
  
Legolas nodded. He straightened bravely, laying a hand flat across his chest, above his heart, and lifted his head with courageousness and pride even in his last moments. Then he grinned, "No amount of hobbits fighting for you will ever be able to return your honour, Estel!"  
  
"Halflings! Charge!" came Aragorn's furious yell. The two Shirelings obeyed at once, and Legolas disappeared under a flurry of curls, brightly-coloured waistcoats and large, kicking feet.  
  
The triumphant and involved shouts of the hobbits, crying out battle-cries and giving mighty roars; the yelps of a deserving elf; the screams of laughter from a young prince and the jeering encouragement from and immobile King who really should know better drifted through the door and into the corridor, where the Gondorimm guards charged with their King's security picked up on it. Datarn and Greful exchanged glances of alarmed confusion, but did not move from their stations. they knew their orders, and weren't about to risk a chide from their fairly-formidable Queen.  
  
And so, no one came to Legolas' aid, and he was beaten continuously by the hobbits to the sound of his godson and best friend's laughter.  
  
End.  
  
  
  
Hope you liked that. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Please review and let me know what you thought. If you did like it, and have not yet read my story 'Vignettes of the Fellowship' then I suggest you do, as this is almost exactly the whole idea behind that story! Cheers and review. AliciA  
  
I shall leave you now with my new favourite quote, it's from the Pirates otC DVd and it's this. brace yourselves: "Bearbreast and ankles all the way!"  
  
Genius. 


	2. The Vengeance Of Elves

A/N: Hello there, everyone. Just thought I'd give you all a little treat, seeing as so many requests came through to continue this story or do a sequel.... plus, I love it and needed some light writing. I can promise you though that this is the very last one in the 'duty' bracket - though will probably have more than one chapter.  
  
Thankyou to everyone who reviewed in the last chapter. But as for your kind words on the hobbits' song, they should be forwarded to a particularly brilliant band called 'Alfie' who's lyrics I filched (I forgot to acknowledge them in the last chapter, sorry). The song always makes me thinks of hobbits and the fellowship's journey, and I was desperate to get it into one of my stories somehow! It seems to have worked!  
  
Anyway, I think you might enjoy this... revenge is a dish best served cold and all that...  
  
Let me know!  
  
  
  
The Queen of Gondor was trying to enjoy as much of the mid-morning sunshine as she possibly could before she had to go back inside the palace: at that moment she was sitting in one of the many eastward gardens, her beautiful face tilted up towards the Sun as a flower would during a long winter.  
  
She sighed happily in complete content, shamelessly enjoying the unnatural peace that fell upon the land when the King was otherwise engaged. Arwen grinned, knowing it was slightly wicked of her to think such a thing, but she couldn't help it - the children were all elsewhere, there were barely any visitors to the palace (and the ones who were there were all extrememly welcome and not troublesome at all), and her dearest Aragorn was confined to his bed-space. She giggled a little again as she looked down from the Sun to the book in her lap, reading in the peace of the garden, soft grass cushioning her and the scent of wildflowers brought from Ithilien all about.  
  
A noise made her look towards the stairs that led from one of the servant's back doors into the garden, and she was surprised to find Legolas, leaning heavily against the stone wall, hobbling carefully down the steps with a slightly pained look on his fair face. Her curiosity prodded, she rose gracefully at once, book forgotten, and wandered over to the ailing elven prince. Nearing him, she held out a hand, which he grasped with gratitude, and helped him down the last few steps without question. The moment he was fully down, however, he bowed stiffly to her, walked swiftly to the high stone wall that seperated the balcony garden from the thin air, and leapt gracefully up onto it, pain apparently forgotten.  
  
Arwen's brow furrowed a little at his unnatural awkwardness and formality - they had known one another for a long time, and she counted him as possibly her closest friend, and it was unlike their friendship to bow and avoid each other's eye. She opened her mouth to call him, but then thought better of it and instead walked over to the wall as well. Reaching it, she followed the lithe prince's example, holding up her many skirts and lightly leaping the tall height of the stone structure, quite against usual-Queenly protocol, to land daintily on both feet. Legolas had obviously sensed her movements and half-turned, one golden eyebrow raised as though impressed with her gymnastics, though she knew he was mildly mocking her in good nature. "Mae govannen, Undomiel," he smiled, turning fully towards her.  
  
Arwen's deep blue eyes narrowed a little, but she smiled all the same at his humour. After a moment of continued silence, however, she could take the suspense no longer and, seeing as he seemed reluctant to voice information, she held up her hands in question. "Are you not going to tell me what the problem is, Legolas? Or must I call a guard to beat it out of you?"  
  
"Oh no... I have had quite enough beatings to last me today, hannon le," he returned, turning from her to look out over Gondor, crossing his arms protectively in front of his chest. His demeanor suddenly radiated an unnatural moodiness, and suddenly it seemed to Arwen that a cloud had passed over the glorious Sun for a time.  
  
Concerned, she brought a hand to his arm, forcing him gently to look at her. "Whatever is the matter, mellon nin?" she asked, really quite anxious about his odd behaviour... it had been her job upon Middle-earth for as long as she knew to worry about her Mirkwood friend, just as it had always been and always would be Legolas' job to lighten her moods, bring sunshine and starlight into her life... add that hint of elvish mischief and magic that came so naturally to him for some reason. Once, a very long time ago, hundreds of years before her dearest Aragorn was even born, she had believed she loved Legolas, and had known for definate that she held his affection... that was one of the many things that had torn at Arwen's heart the most when she met Aragorn: the fact that the love she felt for the man could destroy the friendship and love she felt for her (and his) best friend. But when Legolas had discovered Aragorn's love for Arwen, he had simply backed away, nobley allowing them to be together free from guilt... it was something the Queen was eternally thankful for, and would never forget - and she still loved Legolas, and had an incredibly strong bond with him.  
  
And so the distress evident in her voice was plain to hear, and Legolas himself seemed a little taken aback by it. His green eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, feeling a little foolish for worrying her so, "Oh, Undomiel... I am not being serious... please forgive me for making it seem so."  
  
The queen withdrew her hand sharply, only to smack him hard across the arm with it, mildly annoyed at being unintentionally mocked. "Then whatever is the matter?" she asked once more, though her tone this time was far less kind.  
  
He glanced at her, alarmed: her glorious face was set and determined, chin raised and eyes flashing. He seemed to consider telling her whatever was wrong with him, if merely to keep her from anger, but then his fair face became guarded and his pointed ears held a slight pink hue to them all of a sudden, a sure, characteristic sign that he was embarrassed about something. "You'll laugh," he mumbled, and darted his eyes away.  
  
Arwen's graceful features softened, and a small smile betrayed her, though her friend could not see. "I promise I will not." She held a hand to her breast, over her heart, "Upon my honour, I will not laugh." She made her eyes go especially wide and innocent, trying to convince him of this and also urge him to tell her.  
  
Legolas' bright green eyes narrowed as he weighed up her earnestness, and his lips twisted into a grimace as he apparently deemed her honourable enough to uphold her promise, and he let out a frustrated grunt of annoyance at the unhappy event: "Your eyes are far too beautiful for your own good, mellon nin," he grumbled good-naturedly, mischevious nature winning through, "How am I to deny you of anything when you look at me in such a way?"  
  
"That's my design, all right," she replied easily, smiling prettily at her life-long friend. "Now, tell me... I shall not laugh."  
  
And so, after muttering a little about Arwen taking advantage of her own obnoxiously radiant beauty, Legolas confided in her the humiliating experience of being wrestled to the ground, beaten and sent packing by a pair of hobbits. "All at your husband's fair command!" he finished with more than a hint of outrage, ears flushed once more. He dared not look at her, for fear of her laughing at him, or feeling sorry for him... or being angered by him: accusing him of getting his braids in a twist over a stupid little nothing.  
  
Arwen was amused - she adored the fact that Legolas was embarrassed and even remotely worried that his prideful reputation was diminished by the jesting antics of a couple of halflings. But she hid this deftly from her friend, though her blue eyes sparkled... instead, she raised one dark brow coolly, "Well then, beloved Greenleaf... I see no other choice: we shall have to get them back." And with that, she had jumped gracefully down from the wall, and was already striding across the lush green lawn in a flush of robes, towards the palace.  
  
Legolas swiftly followed her, hitting the ground at a run to catch up. "What are you planning, Undomiel?" he asked suspiciously when he had reached her, for he knew the look the Queen had about her very well, though she got it rarely. "And why does my heart thud so anxiously?"  
  
The elven-lady laughed, "Well, I cannot be expected to explain your eccentric body, Legolas... and as for my plan, you shall see." They were inside the palace now, walking down one of the corridors at a fast pace. At the end of the otherwise vacant hallway, a pair of figures suddenly rounded the corner, deep in conversation. Arwen smiled devilishly, "I also believe we shall be needing assistance." And so she hailed Faramir and his elven companion without any more preamble.  
  
Faramir's silver-blue eyes widened when he saw his Queen coming towards him: for though he knew the Royal Family very well, and was counted amongst their closest friends, he still felt oddly uncomfortably and ungainly when graced by the lady Arwen's precence. She was so incredibly beautiful, and he had previously had such little experience about elves, that he felt it was impossible not to feel slightly awkward and nervous about her... even if she was as warm and friendly as she was beautiful. The Steward then spotted Legolas ambling a little way behind his friend, an odd look of confusion creasing his fine brows - it was clear he knew nothing about what was going to happen either. Faramir then glanced beside him to Martonia, hoping the dark-haired elf would know... but he recieved only the smallest of shrugs and an amusingly-perplexed face in return.  
  
Martonia, who had lived in Rivendell and been a very good friend to Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn and Legolas for most of his life, was blessed with a very good sense of humour, and a dry intelligence that made his witty tongue all the sharper. He was an almost intimidatingly-skilled elven architect (without whom the fledgling community of Ithilien would not have been able to flourish), and his work was counted among the most beautiful in all the lands, and his itense wit - an essential part of his being - sometimes made many (elves and men alike) a little bit nervous, but despite this... his dark grey eyes could always be found to sparkle with some kind of mischief, and none could honestly declare they knew a friendlier person at heart.  
  
The elf-lady came to a halt in front of them, her hands upon her hips and a smile on her lips. It was only when Legolas finally caught up with her that Arwen began to speak, "My dear friends," she addressed them, "it has come to my attention that an injustice has been committed in this very palace."  
  
Hearing these words, Legolas groaned and rolled his eyes, turning away as his ears and the skin upon his high cheekbones flushed in his embarrassment. Faramir's sharp ranger eyes caught this, and he knew instantly that whatever the incident was, it had something to do with his elven best friend. "Pray tell what injustice could this be, and who is responsible? I swear, my lady, that Martonia and I will do everything in our power to rectify this wrong," Faramir stated without hesitation, accompanied by Martonia nodding his head fervently, short dark curls bobbing - both relished the look of utter mortification that held sway over Legolas' fine features. "Who is this dastardly being?" Faramir furthered a demand.  
  
Arwen's sweet smile widened: "Your King."  
  
"Ah." Martonia shared a hurried glance with Faramir, and shifted his light weight back and forth on his feet, a habit the elf had when nervous. This new information made the situation just a little bit more difficult. The elven architect looked back at his Queen, his good friend, and offered a sheepish smile, hand straying to his heart as was an elf's wont when he was apologising for something, "We are sorry, M'lady, but I doubt we can aid you in this instance: we cannot betray our duty to the King, no matter what he has done and even if it is at his Queen's will."  
  
The beauty that stood before them laughed: she had seen this coming and had an answer fully prepared.  
  
  
  
Alright, we'll stop it there for now... let me know what you think and if you want to find out exactly how the elves take their vengeance. 


	3. The Loyalty Of Men

A/N: Hello there, you wonderful people! I am so glad you all seem to be enjoying this light-hearted foray into fluff-dom, and do remember to let me know what you think about this final chapter.  
  
I have my first real exam the day after tomorrow, then they are spread out for about a month after that, so forgive me if you do not hear from me much in the near future... I shall return promptly once this hellish period is over! Then we can all have an action/angst/fluff session, yeah?  
  
Speaking of which, may I remind those of you who are unaware that I recently posted last chapter of 'Survival' (the Aragorn/Legolas friendship fic in which they are in peril etc etc broken friendship blah blah slight fluff), and did not get much feedback... I am assuming - and hoping - that this is because ya'll didn't know it was up. Yeah, that's obviously the reason...  
  
Grin.  
  
Anyway, this has been much fun relief, and I'm sad to see it end. You've all been very amusing and supportive... give yourselves a vast pat on the back from me!  
  
Hope you like this, let me know! This chapter, however, is my favourite chapter of the whole thing, its quite long and full of amusement: I, personally, think the other two look really rather weak in comparison. Let me know your opinions.  
  
Wish me luck! Cheers, AliciA xxxxxx  
  
  
  
"My Queen, I do loathe to bring this up again.... but I must say once more: what we have just planned goes against everything I have ever been taught about protocol and the proper way to behave towards my King," Faramir glanced at the elven-lady nervously as the company of avengers strode quickly through the many corridors of the palace and he struggled to keep up with the annoyingly flight-footed elves.  
  
The beautiful she-elf had eventually swung the company around by promising no harm would come to them, and that the King would eventually see the whole thing as a bit of fun - but now, as they were actually on their way to Aragorn and Arwen's chamber, Faramir seemed not the only one to be having second thoughts.  
  
"Aye, and with no disrespect, My Lady Undomiel... but your beloved is not technically my king, and so it is that I hold no right to.... 'rectify' the wrong he has apparently committed," added Martonia, temporarily walking backwards so he was able to look at his friend's glorious face and show his earnest hesitation.  
  
Arwen suddenly stopped in a flourish of skirts, and all three males skidded on the polished marble floors in order to stop too.  
  
"Look," she said plainly, deep blue eyes flashing, "Lord Faramir: I give you my word that you shall be absolved of any punishment our King might wish to dole out upon the success of our plan, evn though it is my guess that he shall not be too distressed for very long in any case... " Faramir nodded slightly and looked down, though he still looked doubtful.  
  
" ...And Martonia, muin melldis [dear friend]... Legolas is your prince now, and yet has been your kin spirit by way of equally mischevious natures for longer than I care to remember: you have been causing trouble together throughout all of Elvedom since you were both elflings. Now - even though I find it utterly hard to believe that you are not the merest bit excited about playing this joke - at the very least, you have to respect an order from your prince." And with that, she turned expectantly to Legolas, who held the item that was to enable his revenge in his hands.  
  
Legolas at first seemed surprised that the matter had turned to him once more - from the very moment he had mentioned it to Arwen, the whole thing had been rather out of his hands - but then his typical stoic expression overtook his fair features, and none could really tell what thoughts could be running through his sharp mind. And, for the smallest moment, Arwen suddenly doubted her own ability to understand her best friend... mayhap she had misinterpretted Legolas' wishes? Perhaps he really didn't want to do this?  
  
But then, a shockingly devious little grin took to the archer's lips, the one his friends had come to realise he adopted just when he was about to be thoroughly wayward.... all three companions could see just how his green eyes glittered the way they did with anticipation. After all, the vengeance of elves was not a thing to be trifled with.  
  
"Aye, that's right, Martonia," was all he said, before he pushed past them with a satisfied nod of his golden head, and strode off down the white marble corridor with a certain purpose accompanying his own typical elegance, leading to the King and Queen's chamber, object of revenge in hand.  
  
The Lady Arwen could only flash her friends a beautifully-triumphant smile before she, too, launched herself in pursuit, leaving Martonia and Faramir half-heartedly spluttering in the nobles' wake.  
  
  
  
"Nay! Cricket is far better than rugger, feet down."  
  
"Get away, Merry! You can't be serious! Only old gaffers think cricket's any good at all!"  
  
"I shouldn't underestimate the wise words of a gaffer if I were you, lad... I'm well on my way to becoming one!"  
  
Annoyingly, Eldarion been carried off for his nap earlier by a very formidable nanny called Myrfyan, whom Pip had very nearly gotten the wrong side of; and the incessant chatter that surged forth constantly from the two bright halflings had eventually lulled Aragorn into a light sleep... but neither hobbit really minded, for both were perfectly content with merely being in the King's company, and were far too used to each other to ever be caught short for conversation.  
  
And so, Merry and Pippin sat comfortably in chairs made for Gondor's children, across the room from the bed which held the King slumbering within it, their backs to the chamber door. Merry could barely see Aragorn: the bed seemed to sink slightly in then middle, and all the blankets their friend had previously been twisted up in had ended up forming a sort of wall about him, sheilding him from both the sun that streamed in through the windows and the gaze of the halflings.  
  
"Do you think he's right?" asked the elder hobbit after a moment of silence, chestnut brown eyes upon the sunlit bed.  
  
"About what?" Pip, who had not been paying attention, rather he had been amusing himself with the dripping candle wax from the nearest lantern instead. Now, however, he turned his auburn head to his cousin, with eyebrows raised.  
  
"No, foolish Took! I mean: do you think he's right in himself?" Merry replied, annoyed at his best friend's lack of consideration. He got to his feet and wandered across to the high bed, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his short corduroy trousers.  
  
Peregrin frowned slightly, brushed the balls of wax out of his lap, and followed. When he reached the bed, he stood on tiptoes to look over the side of it, and there he found Aragorn fast asleep, semi-curled in on himself, but with his injured leg outstretched stiffly. The curious young Tooklander reached out a small hand hesitantly, ignoring Merry's warning looks, and gently prodded the sleeping King. Aragorn did not make a move, merely breathed out deeply, making the touseled whisps of ragged brown locks that fell across his face bob up and down slightly. "I should say so," Pip attempted to sooth his friend with a shrug of his skinny shoulder and a sniff, "after all, it was only a leg wound."  
  
"Aye... and the Lady Arwen did say it was just a scratch."  
  
"Aye, see!"  
  
"I just wouldn't have thought he would sleep, is all," Merry took in the form of his King, and pursed his lips.  
  
Pippin was silent for a moment, playing idly with wax in the pocket of his bright yellow waistcoat. Then, a bright smile took over his face, transforming it into a cheeky, freckled visade. He nudged his friend slightly with a practised elbow, "We do tend to wear people out, Mer... especially those who aren't lucky enough to be Shirefolk... Gandalf calls it 'an unfortunate character trait'."  
  
It took a moment for this comment to sink in, and then a smile began to spread itself across the Brandybuck's solemn face, making his brown eyes shine with the light of a thousand burning stars. Merry started to laugh - not just a mere chuckling, but a huge belly-laugh that came right from the soles of his large, furry feet.  
  
"Bless you, Pip!" he managed to gasp between spasms of hysterics. He pointed a shaking finger at his cousin, "You, sir, are unique, in every sense of the word!"  
  
Pippin grinned a wide, idiotic grin at his long-known ability to make his best friend helpless, "I shall take that as a compliment, whether that was the intention or no!"  
  
He began to giggle hard himself when Merry was forced to clutch onto him in support in order to stop himself from falling onto the stone-flagged floor. Very soon, the two had to drag themselves away from the King's bed, as they were in danger of waking Aragorn with their antics. And so they crawled up, back into their chairs, wheezing and thoroughly exhausted, swiping half- heartedly at the tears of mirth drying upon their round, flushed cheeks. There they sat awhile, the occaisional snort or chortle escaping them.  
  
"I think I've pulled a muscle," Peregrin eventually muttered, rubbing his aching ribs... the forlone look upon his face ruined by the wide smile breaking it like a dawning sun.  
  
Merry whimpered in reply.  
  
  
  
Dartarn, son of Raymon, shot a half-alarmed glance at his brother-in-law to see whether Greful, son of Aromful, felt the same as he about the situation. But unfortunately the dark-haired guard was not looking at him, rather his sea-grey eyes were fixed resolutely upon the glorious face of their Queen, who was currently confronting them.  
  
The elven lady stood in front of them both, hands pressed down upon lean hips, looking up at them both with large eyes that boasted having seen many years of men within their depths. Behind this vision was stood a rather uneasy-looking group, consisting of the King's closest friend - who was an elf and one of the Famed Nine - the Prince Greenleaf, who's unnaturally jerky movements indicated a certain suspicious nervousness in the usually- graceful warrior, holding something large behind his back that Dartarn could not quite see; another elf whom Dartarn did not know, dark-haired, heavy-eyed and a little bit odd in any case, looking all about him uneasily as if expecting some sort of ambush; and their very own Steward, Prince Faramir of Ithilien, who refused to look the two guards in the eye, and instead fixed his soft gaze firmly upon his boots, so all that could be viewed of him was the top of his straw-coloured head.  
  
It was an odd assortment, to be sure, and Dartarn was unsure as to whether their intentions were purely wholesome. He wonder vaguely which side he would be best on if forced to choose.  
  
Most likely whichever the Queen is on was his mental reply, and he was forced to smother the grin that threatened to shake his dark beard.  
  
"As I was saying, my good men," the Lady Arwen's voice was silky-smooth, and almost like honey to ears accostomed to the sounds of battle and harsh words - little did the two Gondorian guards know that this was the exact same tone she had used to persuade Legolas, Faramir and Martonia to her way of thinking just moments before - "all we wish is for a few moments of my betrothed's time... that is all. We shall leave almost immediately, and you two can carry on with your duties, as I trust you will." She smiled winningly, white teeth and rose-bud lips fair near melting the metal of the two hard-hearted soldiers.  
  
Greful coughed uncomfortably, eyes never leaving her face, as though mesmerized by the utter beauty found there. Datarn decided he must remember his friend's behaviour at this moment and bring it up in conversation when next they were in the company of Dartarn's sister, the lovely Delima, the fire behind their family's name and the wife of Greful. She would no doubt have more than a few things to say on the matter of his adoration.  
  
And so Dartarn took action, on account of his friend having been rendered speechless: "Your Majesty, you told us specifically that the only creatures to be allowed through this door was the two Shirelings... you told us that the King was wounded, and needed to recover before he took on any more stress.... you said that the slightest thing could lengthen our leader's healing process..."  
  
Faramir suddenly felt a sharp gaze upon him, and lifted his head up in time to latch eyes with Legolas, who's intense elven eyes were boring into his own, and there passed a silent guilty look between them.  
  
The Gondorian guard's quick blue eyes saw this, and he supressed another smile, knowing he was getting through to them and protecting his King, "But of course, if you wish, you may go in..." he finished brightly, stepping aside and offering the chamber door to them.  
  
There was silence, and none of the vengeance-seekers moved, other than glancing awkwardly at one another. The strange dark elf who stood at the back of the group finally sighed slightly and shifted his light feet, looking up to say, "Nay, this is folly... let us go - he did nothing to me, in any case..."  
  
Lord Faramir began to leave, nodding his fair head in acceptance, "Nor me, this has nothing to do with I."  
  
Surprisingly, it was Prince Legolas - not the Queen - who called a halt to their exit, raising his soft voice along with a pale hand in protest: "Wait!" he cried, "Do you not see that Estel has slighted me? Do you honestly think I shall be able to hold my head up as an elf and a warrior... as a leader able to be respected, if I did not seek revenge? He - in a demonstration of complete underhand sneakiness... an affliction, say I, from his days as a Ranger - called in the loyalties of two young, impressionable halflings, intentionally misguiding them... all to make me look like a fool... and now it is my turn!" His glinting green eyes caught and held the gazes of his two friends, who were then unable to hide the smiles from their faces.  
  
Martonia smirked almost like a human as he crossed his arms succinctly over his broad chest, rocking his weight back and forth, as was his habit, "I am young and impressionable now, am I, mellon nin?" He deftly ignored the giggle that came from Arwen, and fixed his attention wholly upon his friend.  
  
Legolas smiled back at him, knowing he had, at least, another elf on his side, and replied sweetly without hesitation, "Amin n'ruwa ta [I don't doubt it]."  
  
The dark haired elf chuckled then, giving in against his better nature, he unfolded his arms and bowed deeply, as though a lowly servant, "San' amin naa lle nai: amin naa tualle [Then I am yours to command: I am your servant]." This action won him another delighted laugh from the magnificent elf-maiden and a grin which accompanied a satisfied nod from the golden haired archer.  
  
Faramir, who understood a little (a very little) amount of Elvish from living and working with the firstborn who had settled in the garden of Ithilien, knew then that he would have no choice but to follow his friends in this matter, though he was mildly ashamed that a small part of him was quite looking forward to it....  
  
The loyal Dartarn sighed as he saw this, but all he could do was open the heavy door to the chamber, letting his King's would-be murderers through.  
  
It would be okay... whatever the nobles had planned, he could always pin the blame on Greful's incompetance.  
  
  
  
Neither hobbit had heard the door open, so immersed were they in the activity of trying not to laugh and hurt themselves any more. How could their ears, so accustomed to the uproar and frivolty of a lively tavern or the soothing music of a happy Hobbiton jig, hear the fair-near indetectable tread of swift elven feet? How could their eyes, stinging and blurry from recent tears of mirth, catch the flowing movement of a gracefully carried, many-skirted gown?  
  
No, they could not have done, even had they not been so preoccupied... and so the first time they became aware that anyone was in the room with them at all was when two slim hands wrapped themselves simultaneously around their mouths, effectively gagging them and preventing them from sounding their alarm.  
  
Merry, feeling the soft smoothness of the hand that held him, glanced up with less alarm than Pippin (who felt only a rough, calloused palm covering half of his small face, a palm that might have belonged to an Easterling, for all he knew), and was greeted with the beautiful face of Martonia, a decidedly-perculiar elf from Rivendell who Merry had had the pleasure of getting to know at a happy feast many months ago. The architect's dark grey eyes sparkled with elven magic, and he smiled reassuringly at the hobbit he held. And though Merry knew that the being was up to no good, he knew he, at least was safe for the moment. Peregrin eventually came to realise that it was none other than his good friend Faramir who held him still, and so stopped struggling, but not before he managed to deliver a smart kick to the poor Ithilien ranger, making the prince double up slightly, though he had to swallow his exclamation.  
  
It was then that Legolas' fair face dropped into the halflings' eye lines, and they knew by the troublesome smile that lit up his usually-calm and stoic countenance, and the hands hidden innocently behind his back, concealing something they knew not what, that they were done for. They'd reached the end of their hobbity-lives: for none insulted the son of a elven King and got away with it.  
  
Legolas, for his part, relished the look of surprise, understanding and fear that flashed through the suddenly-widened eyes of his two sweet companions, and was amused that, restrained as they were, they were unable to talk for once. But his quarrel was not with them, and so he satisfied himself with merely raising a golden brow and grinning at them in a way that made them realise he was not about to kill them. Merry and Pippin both sagged with relief when they saw this, though (of course) they'd known all along that Legolas would not harm them.  
  
The tall archer all-but glided across the room to join his partner in crime, the fair Arwen, who stood beside her beloved's bed. He took up his position at the feet of his King, and waited.  
  
  
  
Aragorn suddenly was unable to breathe: his chest constricted and his lungs faltered. He was shocked into awarness, jerking at once out of his sleep, only to find that someone had hold of his nose, preventing him from drawing breath. Quickly he opened his mouth, gasping in the sweet air, and the hand that had held on so cruelly released his nose at once.  
  
He glared up in umbridge, ready to yell at whoever had disturbed him, but was met with the beautiful face of his love, smiling down upon him. Knowing through experience that Arwen was sometimes as odd in her behaviour as the strange and temperamental elves of Mirkwood, and she most likely had her own reasons for grasping his nose and stopping him breathing, he grinned up at her. "Quel andune, mell nin [Good afternoon, my love]."  
  
A strange smile took over his Queen's noble features then, and her eyes narrowed. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, if I were you, mell nin." She said the endearment in a mocking way, a voice sly and seemingly unnatural flowing from her red lips.  
  
What a curious thing to have said Aragorn thought, and pondered this until his eyes, starting to scan the room, found the slender form of Legolas, stood like some evil herald of death at his feet. The elf's handsome features were like a mask, and his body was as still as a statue of stone, only his green eyes showed any movement, there being a glint of silver to be found deep within them.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked, voice swift and not victim to any fear. He tried to sit up in his bed so he was no longer helpless on his back, but a small hand stopped him, pressing him firmly back down into the welcoming mattress with a surprising strength.  
  
The King swallowed, and though he knew the guards were instructed not to enter, he turned his head to call them and instead found the sight of Merry and Pippin, being held at bay by two taller beings, both of whom had one hand wrapped around the small faces of the hobbits, and another hand against their chests, keeping the small creatures from struggling too much. Muffled noises of annoyance and discomfort escaped from the halflings, through the fingers of their guards.  
  
"Martonia... I might have known," Aragorn muttered as he recognised the elf who held Merry.  
  
The dark-haired elf's grey eyes twinkled, and he raised a hand in an amusing half-wave, only to be forced to snap it swiftly back to it's place on Meriadoc's small chest as the brave Shireling took his chance to buck as hard as possible in order to escape. The architect seemed to have his work cut out for him.  
  
Aragorn chuckled slightly, and his eyes slid along to the other accomplice... he was surprised: he wouldn't have reckoned on his usually- loyal steward being a part of a mutiny - the King had the intelligence, however, to see how the ranger-prince deftly avoided his eyes, keeping them fixed downwards onto Pippin's wayward, auburn curls, and knew then that Faramir might not be totally to blame in this plot. Which left...  
  
... his two closest friends. His eyes snapped back to Arwen and Legolas in accusation. "Tell me what this is all about," he demanded from his place on the bed.  
  
His lady nodded, and began: "My dearest Aragorn, you may think that now, because you are a King - and have many who bow down to you in respect, many willing to give up their lives so that you and their nation may live on, and many-" here her deep blue gaze crossed to the Pheriannath "-who will carry out any order you have placed upon them... you may think that this gives you some sort of leave to... how shall I say it... make a mockery of your oldest and most faithful companions." And at this, Arwen looked fondly to Legolas, who gave no sign of recognition.  
  
She continued softly, but they all heard her in perfect clarity, "In theory, you might be right... but let me tell you this and give you fair warning..." her eyes snapped sharply back then onto Aragorn, who had the decency to cringe slightly at the suddenly harsh tone she used deliberately to frighten him, "This oldest and most faithful companion was born long before the Kingdom you now rule over was even founded; he has seen the aging of the world for many long years and this shows in bright eyes that are still youthful and full of the joys of this world; he lives in a forest full of such cruel evil and terrifying peril that brave souls even fear to tread through it, and yet he calls it his homeland; he has wandered across the length and breadth of Middle-earth and is known throughout as one of the greatest warriors of our time."  
  
Her voice was low and husky, and she sounded so alike to her grandmother at that moment it was mildly worrying, "This oldest and most faithful companion comes from a very long, very strong line of wise elven Kings who abhorred Men with as much hate as they had grace, and yet he went against this tradition of his forefathers, merely to be named as your friend; his elvish magic is powerful and boundless, and yet he uses it little upon you, for reasons I know not; he has saved your skin in many foul and dangerous situations the two of you have gotten yourselves in to, rescuing you, his best friend, because he loves you... because he is your oldest and most faithful companion."  
  
Aragorn winced deeply at these truths, and dared not tear his gaze away from his wife's furious face to even glance shamefully at the son of Thranduil to convery his sincerest apologies... he was unable, then, to see that Legolas' whole face was on fire in his embarrassment, countenance shining a bright red never before seen upon an elf: the archer had not known that Arwen had been planning to say this... he was shocked and mortified. Faramir's mouth was fair near grazing the floor; Martonia was listening close; and the hobbits' eyes were almost completely round as Arwen finished her tirade.  
  
The Queen took in a breath, nearly trembling with her emotions. She smiled suddenly at the astounded male, dipping her beautiful head sweetly, "I think, mell nin, that you might have, perhaps, forgotten who Legolas is to you, to all of us." She folded her elegant form and leant down, dark hair falling all about her as she brought her glorious face threateningly close to Aragorns, and she all-but whispered, "And I think you did a very foolish thing earlier today, hmmmm?"  
  
Aragorn swallowed the heavy clot in his throat and nodded.... he was going to be run through, he just knew it. He closed his eyes then, awaiting the death stroke to be delivered, and his life on these shores to be cut short - but it never came. He waited with baited breath, but it never came. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring straight into Legolas' large orbs, Arwen having tactically retreated after a swift, apologetic kiss to his forehead, the elf still stood at the foot of his bed with his hands behind his back.  
  
"Mellon nin," he began, raising his hands in defence before him, "Forgive me: it was only a bit of fun..."  
  
Legolas grinned and shook his golden head. He sighed dramatically, "I am afraid, Estel, that the damage has already been done, and you must pay the price." He seemed almost about to do something, but then he stopped, relaxing slightly. "Estel, do you love me?" he asked suddenly.  
  
"W-what?" Aragorn was confused and completely thrown off-track by the odd question.  
  
"Do you love me?" Legolas repeated in the same manner, slowing the words slightly.  
  
Aragorn did not understand. And he was embarrassed as well, for all eyes were upon him now. "Legolas..." he said quietly, his awkwardness seeping through he tone, and jerked his eyes towards the forms of Faramir, Martonia, Merry and Pippin to imply that is was an odd and potentially uncomfortable question for all involved.  
  
"Just answer the question, Estel," Legolas cried, swiftly becoming irritated.  
  
His best friend saw the signs of his annoyance, and knew that his answer might possibly get him out of whatever foul punishment lay ahead. So he sighed and said, "Aye, of course I do... you might as well be my own kin, for I see you as a brother of my heart."  
  
Legolas smiled brightly at this, and nodded, "Just what I thought. Then you'll soon forgive me for this!" And without further preamble, he brought forward the large, steel bucket full to the brim of ice-cold water that he had carried behind him this whole time, and turned it upside down in front of him, seemingly about to cover his King's feet in the liquid.  
  
But, in order to really pay back his best friend for the indignity he had suffered, and in a bout of unusual recklessness, Legolas decided to unleash part of the 'powerful and boundless' elven magic he had always held within him but only very rarely (if ever) used. At his open-palmed gesture, the freezing water stopped it's journey in mid-air, and impossibly changed it's direction till it was spread out horizontally across the length of the King, like some viscous blanket of water, and then descended. It all happened so fast, it was hard to really understand what had happened, but the result was that Aragorn ended up completely, totally drenched in liquid that would not have been out of place gracing the Mountain Caradhras.  
  
Aragorn shot up from his soaking bed with a mighty scream, not caring for his injured leg, his sudden loss of Kingly dignity or the former-friends that were present... only that the water was utterly freezing and covering him from wet head to bare feet.  
  
Dartarn heard his King's scream from outside the closed door, but once again felt it was far too much to ask that he be the one to go in and attempt to sort it out, only acknowledging it witht he smallest turn of his dark head. Greful yawned and merely carried on naming all the things he thought his friend might have 'spied' beginning with 'E'.  
  
  
  
"Well now, mellon nin, I truly believe we are even."  
  
The two shocked halflings, and the three successful conspirators had left, talking animatedly with one another about the events of the day, which were certainly going to become thoroughly notorious when spread throughout their circles of friends. And so the only ones left in the chamber were Aragorn - now changed and only a little bit damp - bundled under the covers of his bed, and Legolas, standing calmly off to one side.  
  
Aragorn looked up at this comment, about to retaliate with more than a few arrows of his own wit, when he saw that Legolas was being completely honest, his expression open and appealing, golden head cocked innocently on one side. Damned elf he thought quietly of course he is being honest... when is he ever not? And so, for the greater good, the wise King swallowed his bile and rewarded his oldest and most faithful companion with an amused smile, "Aye, I suppose...."  
  
Legolas' fair smile broadened, and he wandered over to the bed, bending his tall form easily to pick up the book Aragorn had hurled at the wall in frustration earlier, he deposited it into Aragorn's lap, "Here, you dropped this."  
  
The King had trouble keeping down the bubbles of laughter rising threateningly in his chest... he was not about to tell the elf about his little tantrum, and was especially going to keep secret the fact that the object had not even reached it's target of the wall, having been thrown in a decidedly girlish manner. "Thankyou," he said, smiling to himself.  
  
The prince sat down on the bed, though Aragorn could barely feel his light weight shift the mattress at all. Legolas looked up into his best friend's face then, green eyes wide, "I am sorry, Estel, however... for - you know..." he trailed off, merely gesturing with his hands.  
  
"For dumping a bucket of ice-cold water all over me? A large bucket, may I say..." Aragorn finished. Legolas nodded, and the ex-ranger sighed, knowing he was as much in the wrong as the prankster of an elven prince, "Aye, and I am sorry as well for- "  
  
"Setting the hobbits on me?" Legolas finished, one practised fine brow raised.  
  
"Aye," Aragorn conceded with a grin. He held out a hand, and Legolas grasped his forearm in the elvish way, conveying all that was needed. They withdrew and sat smiling softly, greatful for the peace of their long- standing friendship. Aragorn was the one who broke the silence: "I should have known you would seek vengeance - 'tis the way of elves, you know." At Legolas' indelicate snort, he chuckled and continued, "And of course, Arwen and that demon Martonia would be involved somehow... though I must admit I am shocked by Faramir association with you gang of heathens and your dastardly plans."  
  
Legolas laughed melodiously, shifting slightly on the bed in order to draw one leg up to his chest, resting his elbows easily upon it. He shrugged lightly, "Poor Faramir never really had a choice in the matter: I must say that he was drawn into the whole thing rather against his will..." His eyes lighted as a thought came to him, "As is the loyalty of Men."  
  
Aragorn grumbled half-heartedly, "Or lack, thereof."  
  
The prince laughed once more, then prodded his friend upon the shoulder with a well-practiced finger, "I was also drawn in against my will, you know." At Aragorn's rolling of his eyes and the folding of his arms, the elf nodded with conviction, "I was! The cheif instigator in all the plans of revenge was your lovely wife! I swear - Estel, stop laughing... come on, it's not very mature or Kingly, now, is it?"  
  
"I am sorry, mellon nin, but it's all so amusing... I do love you all - even you and all the other traitors... I doubt the palace and City of Gondor is any brighter or full of mirth than when you all descend and turn Royal protocol into a mockery and my dignity into a mere myth or legend," Aragorn grinned fondly, and grasped his best friends hand, slate-grey eyes sparkling like diamonds.  
  
Legolas smiled back widely, displaying perfect white teeth, and said cryptically, "Then you'll enjoy this evening."  
  
"Oh, and why is that?" Aragorn asked, curiosity furrowing his dark brow.  
  
"Gimli is arriving," Legolas said sweetly, relishing the sound of every word of that sentance.  
  
Aragorn withdrew his hands in order to cover his face, flinging himself indulgently back into the pillows, as if they might grant him refuge from the chaos that would inevitably follow the stout dwarf's arrival. "What did I do to deserve this?" he groaned, echoing his previous statement from that morning.  
  
Legolas prodded him sharply again, loving every minute of this, and crowed with delight, "You got yourself injured, that's what, my lord!"  
  
The (real) End.  
  
  
  
Review, let me know whether you liked it or no! Love ya'll, see you soon! AliciA xxxx 


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